Mistakes
by Orodruin
Summary: Sakumo didn't know where it all started. Everything just seemed to happen so naturally that it was hard to pinpoint any one event.


Mistakes

_R. Winters  
_

I don't exactly know where this came from or what I was thinking when I wrote it. I only have a vague idea that I wrote it back in November (because that's what my computer date-marked it as), and then stumbled upon it tonight while taking a break from work. Be warned, it both intrigued and somewhat horrified me, so read with caution... I just don't know what else I can say about this. Obviously, I still do not own _Naruto_.

* * *

Sakumo didn't know where it all started. Everything just seemed to happen so naturally that it was hard to pinpoint any one event.

It could be said that it started when Kakashi was an infant. Around his third month, the baby had had a fierce colic and cried almost constantly, doubly so when Sakumo put him down. It had been hard enough trying to care for a baby with no mother, but when the colic started, the legendary ninja had been sure that it was going to be it or him.

The baby cried less when he held him, and less still when he talked to him, so after about a week of experimentation, the new father had had an epiphany, and started to read to the child.

The Hatake household had not exactly been prepared for a child. Things had been hectic, Sakumo's wife had taken badly ill a few months before the baby was due, and most of their time had been spent in the hospital—hell, maybe fighting for his life in the _womb_ had been the beginning. The baby room had a crib and changing table, but not much else, and they'd never gotten around to purchasing books for their little one.

So Sakumo had done what a shinobi does best; he had improvised. The sweet silence that settle over the house halfway through A Basic Exploration of Chakra Nature had probably been the loveliest sound that the man had ever heard.

He spent hours reading to Kakashi—everything from history to tactics to chakra scrolls, and even a few old reports he'd found in his desk drawer. He considered, once or twice, purchasing some actual children's books, but the baby didn't seem to mind the dry subject, and Sakumo could multitask, studying while he kept the child entertained.

Kakashi healed, and Sakumo read, and eventually the only way to get the baby to sleep had been to read to him, cuddled against his chest. Even years later, his son would demand bedtime 'stories' whenever he was home, curled up next to him as he read.

Realistically, it probably started later. As a young two-year-old, Kakashi spent long hours on the porch, playing with blocks and carved animals, and watching as his father trained. Slowly, as the child gained more and more motor control, the watching had turned to mimicking, with the small, clumsy child shadowing everything he did.

Sakumo didn't automatically think of training his toddler child. The little boy was only playing, smiles and giggles and enthusiasm. The small correction and advice he offered to the flailing two-year-old was never meant to be coaching, but Kakashi took to it eagerly, and Sakumo began to see the difference immediately, the slowly growing gracefulness in his very young son.

It wasn't until, two months before his third birthday, Kakashi got his hands on a kunai and Sakumo caught him throwing it at the target that it started to dawn on him what he had on his hands. His chastisement died on his lips when he saw the way the boy handled the weapon, and he stared for a full five seconds at the blade that pierced the target. It wasn't in the center, it wasn't even all that skillfully thrown, but considering the source had been a toddler who had never picked up a weapon before and had no actual training—he'd known enough to be amazed.

Little Kakashi had preened when he asked him to do it again—the second throw was even better than the first, and the teacher in Sakumo couldn't help but offer corrections. The boy's third kunai hit within the second ring, as well as any Academy student might have done.

The man couldn't help but be impressed, and Kakashi sensed as much, laughing in delight.

Maybe that was when it started, the day he'd acknowledged his prodigy son for what he was, two months before his third birthday.

Sakumo couldn't help being proud. He couldn't help being curious. He couldn't help it that he wanted to see just what his small son was capable of.

He had been careful not to push, but Kakashi was like a baby bird leaping recklessly from its nest. He must have seen the way his father looked at him, with amazement and pride, and for the next year of his life, Kakashi spent hours each day mastering his fledgling skills, always looking to his father for approval.

Sakumo couldn't help but approve. He couldn't help but brag. He couldn't help it that he wanted everyone to know just what his small son was capable of.

Because Kakashi was _amazing_.

He started needing to constantly remind himself that Kakashi was only a baby—only three years old—and he needed time to just be a kid, too. Despite his best efforts, the time spent playing with blocks and carved wooden animals slowly faded. Even the trips to the park became fewer and far behind as Kakashi ran circles around his age mates and was slowly excluded, becoming more and more ostracized as he missed out on the games that they played. And then he'd stopped _wanting_ to play with the other children, and everything became always about _training_.

Sakumo barely noticed, because the boy was just _so_ enthusiastic and _so_ good, and because he genuinely loved spending time training with his father.

A few months after Kakashi's fourth birthday was the first time he _really_ noticed how much his son had changed in such a short time. The two of them had been in town, running some errands. Their usual route took them by the Third Municipal Park, and they were on their way home when an errant ball was kicked in their direction.

There were shouts of warning from the gathered children, and in the space of maybe a second or two, Kakashi had dropped the bag he was carrying, ducked out of the way of the small rubber ball, and jumped to catch it before its second bounce, slowly straightening from a crouch.

The other children were clearly impressed, gaping at their own age mate, with mouths hanging open and eyes bulging with surprise. Sakumo was a little impressed, too, because even in his haste, Kakashi had managed not to break the eggs in his sack.

The small four-year-old walked back across to his side, looking across at the staring crowd of children with bemusement, and glancing once at his father for direction before asking, "Whose is this?"

Slowly, a hand went up, the small, black-haired boy's expression still one of shock and awe.

Kakashi threw it at him with unerring aim, and the boy just barely managed to catch it, yelping in surprise, and then again in pain when it slapped against his hands. He dropped the ball briefly, shaking out injured hands, before picking it up again and running across to them—Kakashi had already retrieved his bag.

"Oiii!" The boy yelled as the father and son pair started to walk away. They paused, looking back.

The boy, who had to be at least as old as Kakashi, ran up to them, breathing heavily with a wide grin splitting his red-flushed face. "Hey! Um… Do you want to play with us?"

Kakashi had simply stared back at him as though he had spoken a different language, expression slightly quizzical and hesitant.

"I can take the groceries back," Sakumo offered, shifting his own bag to one arm, "Why don't you go play for a while, Kakashi?"

The look the boy shot at him was almost a kind of hurt. "But… Otousan…"

"If you want to," Sakumo had added carefully.

"C'mon!" The other boy encouraged, "It'll be fun, 'Kashi-kun!"

In a moment, the hesitation was gone, only to be replaced with stark refusal as Kakashi gripped his bag a little more tightly. "No," he said, firmly, "I'm training with Otousan this afternoon."

The other boy looked surprised, and a little confused. "Well… maybe next time? Tomorrow?"

Kakashi shook his head. "I don't want to play baby games. I'm training to be a shinobi."

The other boy looked offended. "I'm gonna be a ninja, too! But, look, it's a good game—and it's not for babies!"

But Kakashi had been adamant in his refusal and the other boy had stormed away with a few of his _own_ hurtful words, and Sakumo had quietly herded his son back home to unload the groceries with a new set of eyes, because it had been _months_ since his son had played at the park, or done anything with children his own age, and even now that he'd been _invited_, he still had refused.

"You know, you don't have to train _all_ the time, Kakashi," Sakumo had ventured carefully as they put away groceries.

Kakashi had shot him a sidelong, unconcerned look. "If I'm going to get as good as you I do," he answered simply.

Sakumo had chuckled at the time, although he didn't really think it was funny anymore. "You still have a lot of time to catch up to me. For now, it's good to have other interests, too. And friends."

Kakashi shrugged, a stubborn set to his jaw as he looked up at the ceiling. "I don't want to be friends with _those_ kids."

Sakumo couldn't exactly force his son to have friends, or even to play at the park with the other kids, although he tried to bring the option up as often as he could after that, trying to remind himself constantly that the boy was only four-years-old, and at any rate, he wasn't a shinobi, and in such a case he should be getting out and making friends. Apparently, while Kakashi had been learning to take a punch and manipulate his chakra, he'd also been learning how to be stubborn, because the boy didn't give for a moment.

In the end, that was why Sakumo had petitioned to send him to the Academy early, because while the other first year students would probably be a year or two older, at least, they'd be close enough to his age. And Kakashi was eager to go—seeing it as a step closer to being a shinobi, and thus being as good as his father.

He hadn't even considered his son's level of skill when he filled out the paperwork. He hadn't stopped to think of how long it would take Kakashi to show off the encyclopedia of knowledge he'd absorbed from hundreds of evening "bedtime stories."

And why _should_ it have occurred to him that the Academy might graduate a child after only _one_ year?

In that one year, Kakashi was shifted from class to class to class. By the time the school year was half over, the then five-year-old boy had been advanced all the way to the super-student class, already a master of the basic ninja arts and knowledge base and in need of the more challenging class work offered to the other students who had mastered the basics but were lacking in the necessary skills to be accepted by a Jounin teacher.

Sakumo had been too stunned to even protest any one change. He'd been too proud and too taken aback by the self-pride in his son's eyes when the five-year-old brought home a permission slip to participate in the graduation exam not to agree.

He had known, when he signed, that Kakashi would graduate. Years later, he wished he could say he'd assumed they'd never graduate a five-year-old, but he knew Kakashi's skill first hand, and he'd known the boy was as good as any young Genin around the village.

Admittedly, he'd been doubtful that a Jounin would actually take on a five-year-old as a student, but there were only so many excuses a shinobi could give to refuse a team, and age didn't usually factor into it. It would be awkward at the best, and at the worst… Sakumo would have to deal with a ninja child much earlier than he'd expected.

His plan had completely backfired on him. Kakashi didn't make friends at school. He wasn't in the younger classes long enough to get to know the other children, and his older classmates couldn't see the tiny boy as an equal, even if he was the highest scorer in the class. And then he'd been apprenticed, all by himself, and Sakumo had to admit that Kakashi wasn't going to fit in with his own age mates for quite some time—if ever.

His son was completely and utterly devoted to the shinobi arts, and while it made the man proud, it also made him a little sad for his child. Kakashi was still just starting out, and didn't yet understand the loneliness he'd been set up to suffer. And Sakumo wasn't about to add to it, so even though guilt gnawed quietly at his gut, he spent hours at home training the boy, building him up and showing silent approval in everything he did, because that was what his boy needed.

He'd never expected it to get to this point, a short handful of years after it all started—whenever that was. He didn't expect to see his young son, a Chuunin at only six-years-old, coming home from missions bruised and exhausted, spending long hours alone or training, and stoically bearing the misguided hatred of villagers and peers with a maturity far beyond his age.

Sakumo wasn't entirely sure where it started, but it broke his heart, even more than the slanders thrown his way. Everything had seemed so natural, but there was nothing natural about walking in on his tiny son in the bathroom, washing blood from his hands.

Sakumo didn't know when Kakashi had stopped being a child and started being a killer instead.

He hoped that one day, his son would forgive him. He hoped someday, Kakashi would learn that he was _so much more_ than just a shinobi. More than anything, Sakumo hoped that one day, someone could look at what he'd done to his own child, and not see the biggest mistake the White Fang had made in his entire life.

He hoped that _someone_ could do it, because he knew that he couldn't.

He didn't know when it started, but he couldn't love his blood-soaked little boy the way he deserved, and he couldn't live with the knowledge of how deeply he'd failed him.

So Sakumo put an end to the mistakes the only way he could think of. With one more.


End file.
